


Broken the Right Way

by BommieB



Series: Broken [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Parentlock, Pregnant Molly, Previous Drug Use, Rose Watson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BommieB/pseuds/BommieB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock receives some news from Molly regarding a new member of their unofficial family and has to come in terms with it. [Sherlolly ~ Post Season 3 ~ Follow Up for ‘Gladly Broken’]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock heard the words, but didn’t assimilate them straight away. The woman just stared at him and all he could do was to stare back at her. This wasn’t like when John asked him to be the best man of his wedding, it was pretty much the opposite: in where with John his thoughts raced and he really thought that words were coming out of his mouth, but since Molly gave him the news, Sherlock’s mind was completely blank for the first time in a long while.  
  
“Did you hear me?” The pathologist, Molly Hooper, asked with a tired sigh. “I… I am not going to ask anything from you, Sherlock.” She told him gently after watch the Consultant Detective just stare at her for a minute without saying anything. “But I wanted to let you know rather than wait for you to deduce; it would be bad for both of us.” Still without saying a word, the man simply blinked a couple of times and the woman proceeded talking. “This will be my child if you want it to be that way and no one has to know; I don’t care about what people say about me anymore. I’ll tell them that I decided to try artificial insemination – they will believe it. But if it wants to know who you are when it’s older, I will not lie.  
  
“There will be no talk of pregnancy if you don’t bring it up, I will talk with John, Mary, and Greg not to say a word about it so we can still work together if you want. I can’t be responsible for what you deduce of me, though. If you choose to find someone else to work with, I won’t blame you. The last thing I want is for you to feel trapped in any way.  
  
“But,” she took a deep breath and hesitated for a moment and she knew that even in his state of shock, he noticed “there’s the possibility that you’ll want to know the child, and as long as you are clean,” the said pointedly “it’s okay too. I wouldn’t expect you to change diapers or anything like a usual dad.” Molly offered a small smile. “I know that you never expected this to happen after just one reckless night and it is a shock but… I just wanted you to know that I chose to keep it.”  
  
Molly got up from the chair and kneeled in front of Sherlock’s chair, where the man was seated, and put a hand above the one which grabbed the arm set forcibly. “We are friends, Sherlock and that will never change. If anything, I’ll care for you even more now.” When he did nothing, she sighed and got up. “I’ll be on my way, then. If you want to talk with me, I’ll be in my flat later.”  
  
Sherlock, right after hearing the front door close, got up and walked to the window and had no trouble spotting her bright pink jumper as she looked inside her purse before grabbing her phone and then proceeded to walk away from Baker Street and whoever saw her, would never guess she was eight weeks pregnant – Sherlock himself missed it and now that he thought about it, those four pounds were not gained by impulsive eating.  
  
How could have him been so stupid? One night. Just one night when his hormones were boiling together with adrenalin and he impulsively kissed her, leading to a passionate night and now to a child.  
  
He grabbed his violin and played his frustrations away, not at all worried that other people might find it bothersome to have someone playing for two hours with almost no breaks. It stopped, though when Sherlock saw John Watson climbing out of a cab and by the way his best friend’s posture, he knew the doctor was informed about Molly’s… predicament.  
  
Letting himself in, John entered 221B not too long after arriving and found Sherlock still by the window, grasping the violin tightly. The doctor didn’t say anything for a few moments and the taller man didn’t turn around to greet him.  
  
“So...” John sighed. “Molly came by today.” He saw Sherlock’s body stiffen and even if he didn’t have the deduction skills, he pretty much saw that. “Some news, huh?”  
  
“Did she ask for you to come here but to say nothing of the subject?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Sherlock finally turned around to face his friend. “Are you going to say something about the subject?” He asked, even if the answer was obvious by the way John stood.  
  
“I will drop it after today, I swear.” The doctor raised his hands in defeat and walking towards his chair. “I just wanted to talk with you first and see how you were doing” He sat and Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed the other man’s lead and sat on his own chair.  
  
“Go on, tell me all the reasons I should never raise a child.” The Consultant Detective waved dismissively and rolled his eyes in annoyance.  
  
“Why would I do that?” John frowned, genuinely confused.  
  
“Because I am me.” Sherlock was just as confused as John.  
  
“So what?” The doctor shrugged.  
  
“I told you once: I am a sociopath who solves cases in exchange to get high.”  
  
“And that never stopped you from doing absolutely anything.” John raised an eyebrow. “You have people you love, you have a… well, let’s call it a job for the sake of the argument, you have friends and being a sociopath didn’t stop you. In fact, apparently, I am your friend because of it.” He smirked – at least he accepted the fact that he was drawn to psychopaths like magnet – and the man sat in front of him even ghosted a smile.  
  
“It took a while, though.” Sherlock said pointedly.  
  
“It did, but Sherlock” John smiled “have you stopped to think about how much you’ve progressed in only five years? No one else could stand living with you because you were such a dick that they would rather be homeless – don’t argue, it’s true: I’ve considered the option a few thousand times, you and your brother are in much better terms than before, you get along with Anderson, for god’s sake.  
  
“You have grown so much and maybe you can’t see it, but I sure as hell can.” Their eyes locked and the doctor continued his speech. “You have meaningful relationships with other people. You care so deep that you faked your own death and stayed hidden for two years dismembering an organization so you could save lives.” John took a breath. “You killed Magnussen so Mary and I wouldn’t live in fear. If this isn’t enough evidence that you love, need I to remind you that you adore Rose? I am not saying that you carry her often or that you stop by every day to see her, but when you do, you can’t hide how much you love her and she’s not even yours biologically. The connection you will have with your own child will go beyond what you think you feel for her, you know?”  
  
“Even so.” Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t think fatherhood is for me.”  
  
“Most of us think that.” John said. “I wanted to have children, but I have no clue of what I am doing and I am learning as I go and if Mary wasn’t by my side? I’d be stuck.” He looked pointedly at his best mate. “Molly would do the same, you know? She doesn’t expect you to suddenly know everything.”  
  
“But what if I screw the kid up?” The Consultant Detective asked, rising from the chair and started to walk around the room. “Look at me. I have a lung in my refrigerator ready to dissect, John. I drank tea with an eye on it and even I know that it’s not normal; I see no problem about it but normal people seem to think it traumatizes children.” Sherlock stopped. “I know how it is to be different as a child and I wish it to no one.”  
  
“Sherlock… every parent screws their kid up in a way.” John offered. “You have perfectly nice parents and you have complaints. My parents were nice but they made lots of mistakes along the way. Rose is just six months old and I know I will screw her up at some point, Mary will too. It’s completely normal. And if you are talking about organs in your kitchen, may I remind you that Molly herself spends her days elbow deep in corpses? She’s the one who gave you that lung. Are you saying she would be a bad mother?”  
  
“Don’t say nonsense, John. Molly will be excellent; she’s born for motherhood. You can see it by the way she gets when holding Rose that she always wanted a child for herself and she would be very loving to it.” Sherlock dismissed his friend’s remarks.  
  
“Well, you get the same way.” The doctor shrugged.  
  
“Do I?” The taller man frowned and John nodded, staring at him with curious eyes. “The day Rose Ann was born, when you told me that I should experience it… I thought about it. How my life would be if I had one of those around.”  
  
“And…?” The doctor pressed when Sherlock’s eyes wandered and the man didn’t say anything for several moments.  
  
“I thought that it was doable. I never thought exactly how would I do that, but my mind seems to think that it is possible.”  
  
“It is.” John agreed.  
  
The Consultant Detective hesitated and John could see the doubt that passed by his eyes. “Are you saying that I can do this?”  
  
“Only you can answer that, mate. I can tell you one thing, though: I have never seen you fail in something after you set your mind on doing it.”  
  
“I…” The taller man cleared his throat. “I need to think about it without people expecting me to have an immediate answer.”  
  
“No one is going to pressure you.” John replied. “I would be the worst one, I think, but I decided to follow Molly on this one.”  
  
“Plus, Mary told you to.” Sherlock returned to his chair.  
  
“Yes, she did.” The doctor agreed.  
  
“Why aren’t you surprised that Molly and I engaged intercourse?” The Consultant Detective wondered.  
  
“Because I’ve seen you with Irene and Janine – thankfully it was a gradual thing, otherwise when Molly told me about the pregnancy, I would’ve been in shock and denial.” John chuckled and Sherlock followed. “I was still surprised, though.”  
  
“Trust me: I was there and the news was just as surprising for me as it was for you.”  
  
“Somehow I really doubt that.”  
  


&

Later, when John left the flat, Sherlock went to the only place he would definitely know if he was apt enough to participate in his child’s life or to just let it be raised by Molly alone: his mind palace.

He had everything there: all the information he would ever need and all he needed to do was go inside, analyze the situation and decide what to do about it, so, he lied down on the sofa and entered his mind palace in no time.

Sherlock saw tiny feet appear in front of his chair – apparently his mind palace replicated 221B’s living room for this conversation – and the Consultant Detective raised his eyes and was surprised to see a small child staring at him. It was a boy, not even five years old if he had to guess, with light brown straight hair, warm brown eyes, a button nose, small lips and tall for his age. He looked like a young male version of Molly.

“I was expecting someone who exists.” The man said pointedly.

“I exist, I am just not this grown up yet.” The boy replied.

No, Sherlock thought after a moment, if this was his child with Molly, he should have more Holmes in him, after wondering for a moment which of his traits would be genetically stronger, the boy changed a bit so his hair was now curly but with the same shade as his supposedly mother, the eyes changed to the same blue/green with golden drops like Sherlock’s eyes, and even if the nose stayed the same, the lips now resembled his own.

Good. Now the boy was a mix of them both, as it should be.

“What’s your name?” Sherlock asked the boy.

“You know.” He answered with a shrug and the older man saw the uncanny resemblance between the two of them.

The Consultant Detective leaned forwards. “I’d imagine you were named after Molly’s father: Leonard, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No.” The boy shook his head.

Sherlock frowned. “No?”

“No.”

“And why is that?” The older man asks.

“I’m me and granddad was granddad.” With a smile, the boy put his arms behind him the same way Sherlock himself liked to do so very often.

“Hm.” Sherlock hummed in agreement. “Not William either then?”

“No, that’s you, silly.” His curls bounced as he giggled.

“Molly liked those new fancy names but she would choose something more classic for her own son to follow the same pattern as her father.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Edward? George? Harold?”

“You should stop trying,” the boy pointed out “you would know it for sure if Mum was here to confirm it and she’s not.” The boy shrugged.

“Fair enough.” The older man gave up figuring out the boy’s name for the moment; Molly was the most unexpected person in his life while being the simplest of them all. Plus, it was not important at the moment to name the imaginative child. “Where do you live?” The consultant detective wondered.

“With Mum.”

“Where do I live?” Sherlock asked.

“Here.” The boy looked around the 221b flat and the older man nodded; it made sense, he wouldn’t move from Baker Street unless it was destroyed. “I stay here a few nights in my room.”

“Your room?”

“Up there.” The young boy looked over his shoulder and pointed to the door which leads to the stairs to John’s old room; it made sense for it to be used as a child’s room.

“I see.” Sherlock agreed – living arrangements would be fine. “How about Molly?”

“She goes out with her boyfriend when I stay over.”

This answer was not satisfactory. “No, this won’t do. How about Molly?”

“She shares your room.” Better.

“But you still live at Molly’s flat.” The Consultant Detective informed, not even bothered to ask, and the boy nodded.

“Mum says this is where you work and you need space.”

“I do.”

“But you always come home after a case. Mum cooks for you.” The boy said with a smile. “She says you like pancakes.”

“Does she?” Sherlock knew that Molly was very well aware that pancakes were one the few foods he couldn’t turn it down.

“Uhum.” The boy nodded. “She says you are too thin. But she likes to kiss you.”

“I see.” Satisfactory answer. “Are you boring?”

“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. “If I am your son, I will be interesting.”

Sherlock agreed. “What about family?”

The child stopped to think for a moment before answering. “There’s Uncle Mycroft, he teaches me deductions.”

“No.” That wouldn’t do.

“There’s Uncle Mycroft, he said he’s got protection on me and hates when I call him Uncle Fatty.” Much better.

“Who else?” Sherlock demanded.

“Uncle John and Auntie Mary come over all the time with Rosie to visit you and Nana. Greg…”

“Who?” The man interrupted, confused.

“Gerry.”

“Oh. Lestrade. Go on.” The Consultant Detective waved it off.

“He visits too, bring you cases and yells at you sometimes. I think it’s funny.” The boy smiled. “Mum and I are here all the time when you are not working; you say that you don’t like many people here, but you look happy.” He said simply. “We go to Gran and Pa for holidays. You don’t like it.”

“To be expected.” Sherlock sighed. “How do you and Molly get along with my parents?”

“Gran loved Mum even before they met because she helped save your life.” The child informed. “After Gran found about Mum expecting me, she was very happy and she coddles me.”

The man scoffed. “Of course she does.”

“Pa cried when I was born.” The boy chuckled.

“He does that too often.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Uncle Rudy wanted to dress me as a girl when I…”

“Yeah, forget about them. I won’t be introducing you to the rest of the family. I wouldn’t even tell Mummy, but I think that Mycroft just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” The man said in annoyance.

“Does it mean you will be there?” The boy wondered innocently.

“I don’t know; that’s why you are here: to help me decide.” Sherlock told the made-up child. Both stayed in silence for a few moments before the younger broke it.

“I will be fine even without you there, you know? I have Mum, she’s nice and loves me very much. Even if you are not there, I will turn out alright.” The boy shrugged. “You will be fine too. You have your cases most of the time. But… what do you have when you don’t?” The boy’s eyes were innocent as he tilted his head to the side in wonder. “You are all alone here. Uncle John has Auntie and Rosie. Nana has her boyfriend, and Uncle Garry has his wife. Mum has me and I have Mum. Who do you have when you come home?”

“I…” Sherlock didn’t know what to answer the child.

“You don’t like to be alone, Dad.” The man felt something shift inside him with the imaginary boy calling him that way. It didn’t make any sense, since it was a creation from his mind, but had effect either way. “Not after you knew how nice it is not to be.”

“What could you do to make it less alone? You wouldn’t understand anything of what I do for years.” Sherlock questioned.

“Children love their parents unconditionally.” The small boy answered. “It wouldn’t make a difference if you saw me once a week, or a once a month. And, by your logic, since I won’t understand, you can do whatever you want.”

“That is true.” Sherlock nodded. “But as you know: I don’t feel like other people do.”

“It doesn’t mean that you don’t feel at all.” The child answered, the green/blue eyes so much like Sherlock’s bright and smart and the man wondered if the real child would have them as well. “I have to go, Dad. Mum is calling.” Before the older man could say a word, there was movement by his left side, the boy waved good-bye and started moving.

Sherlock watched as the boy ran towards the couch located by his left side where Molly waited with a ridiculous bright jumper with fish on it. This time, the boy turned to be much younger, maybe one year old and his tiny legs worked very hard to get where Molly was kneeling, waiting for him with a big smile, her hair was loose like Sherlock preferred.

The pathologist snooped the child from the ground with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling as she greeted the toddler with a kiss on the cheek and the child laughed in delight and the action made Sherlock’s heart flutter.

“Say bye bye to Daddy.” Molly coaxed the child and the boy did what he was told, raised a chubby hand and waved. “He has important stuff to decide; if he’ll give it a chance or if he’d rather stay the way he is.” Sherlock’s and the woman’s eyes locked. “Even if you decide not to be there, Sherlock, remember that we will always be waiting for you here.” She smiled and then looked to the child. “Let’s go to your room, baby. Daddy can visit you later.”

And just like that, he was out of his mind palace, blinking fast. He sat down, the decision finally made. Sherlock got up, put his belstaff and scarf, ran outside and hailed a cab. He needed to talk with Molly.

&

Instead of letting himself in like he usually did, Sherlock knocked and waited for her to answer the door. He was unusually nervous and he didn’t like the feeling at all; he very much liked to say what he wanted and to be on his way.

When Molly opened the door, she was surprised to see him there, but before she could say anything, Sherlock jumped in. “I have no idea of how to do this. I am not a normal good example for a child and if I have my way, it will be visiting crime scenes with me as soon as it can think so I can teach everything I know. That’s what I do: I drag people to my world. But I would never put it in danger intentionally, Molly. Ever.

“Caring is a chemical defect, I stand by this.” He took a breath. “But the say Rose Ann was born, John said to me that he doesn’t believe it and that if it’s true, he would be gladly broken and… I… I have been broken so many times in horrible ways. I just… Maybe it’s time I get broken the right way.” Molly nodded for him to continue. “I won’t be of much help and you will have to teach me, but I’d like to have a chance to be here for it. I… I would like to be by your side during this. As much as I can, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “Please.” He added after a moment.

Molly smiled and offered her hand to him. “Come in so we can talk better.”

Sherlock was never a fan of hand holding, but he assumed that it was more of a symbolic thing than actually the actual hand holding, so he took it and let her bring him inside her flat.

It would be strange, it would be exciting and it would be weird, but Sherlock have been breaking the right way for a while; it would be easier to open up for his own child. Maybe that’s why he met all the people who managed to scrap the barrier around Sherlock Holmes’ feelings.

He was eager to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you liked it. Forgive me any OOCness and mistakes (English is not my first language). The boy’s vocabulary is nice because he’s part of Sherlock’s Mind Palace, alright? That’s why he forgot Lestrade’s name as well. I was thinking about writing a second part of this. What do you think? Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s amazing the amount of people supporting this story. I hope this is just as nice as chapter one and that you enjoy it.  
> Since we don’t know Janine’s last name, I called her Janine Kincaid in this.

"I heard some pressing news today, brother dear.” Sherlock groaned in irritation when he exit his room, only to hear the most horrible voice in the world: his brother’s. The Consultant Detective finally indulged sleep after seventy-two hours and the first person he saw afterwards being Mycroft already made his day awful. The younger man paid no attention to his older brother as he stumbled across the kitchen and yelled Mrs. Hudson, so she could be aware that he was awake and hungry. “About a progeny which will be entering the world in less than 7 months, I imagine."  
  
Sherlock scoffed and walked towards his chair while his brother sat on the opposite one. "You heard about it _today_? You _are_ slipping, Mycroft; Molly has known for two weeks and I for one."  
  
"Well, if you bothered picking your phone and calling me to give me the news about me turning into an uncle, I would know last week just like... I don't know, John, maybe?" Mycroft was staring at  
  
The Consultant Detective raised an eyebrow. "Are you jealous of _John_ knowing it first?"  
  
"Don’t be ridiculous." Mycroft spat and then became serious. "Don't change the subject: a _child_? Really, Sherlock? I thought that being Rose Watson's godfather – as much as I thought it was absolutely _barmy_ – would down any urges you might have of fatherhood; imagine my surprise when i learned that you sired one yourself. With _Miss Hooper_ , nonetheless."  
  
"Why _wouldn't_ be with Molly?"  
  
"Your previous choices had been more...” The older Holmes chose his word with care “ _refined_. She seems plain in comparison with your few other affairs; _they_ were your type.”  
  
“Really, now? I have a _type_ , as you put it?” Sherlock wondered how long Mrs. Hudson would take to give him his morning tea – ever since he learned that she was the one to provide it, she was never late. Oh, it was a Wednesday; she spent the previous night with her gentleman friend and wouldn’t be in until noon. He hated being hungry when allowed to eat, but loathed even more to cook. Waiting it was.  
  
“You do.” Mycroft proceed in making his point. “Just look at Miss Adler and Miss Kincaid: both were of tremendous beauty, liked to be under the spotlight and were _very_ cunning, while Miss Hooper is more of a, what’s the term again, oh yes: a wallflower."  
  
"I don't have to justify my actions to you." Sherlock said, losing his patience with the way his brother talked about Molly: she was worth a thousand Mycrofts. "If that’s your opinion about Molly, I want you to stay away from her; from _them_."  
  
“Oh, I’m afraid this will cause friction between the two of you: Miss Hooper told me that I could meet my nephew or niece and visit whenever I wanted and I intend to do so.” Mycroft smirked and the younger man sulked. “She also informed me of your intention of 'being there' whatever that means to you."  
  
"You went to see her?"  
  
" _Who_ is slipping now, Sherlock? It's been obvious from the moment I arrived, really."  
  
The Consultant Detective ignored the other man’s remarks. "What did you say to her?"  
  
"That I would look after the child if you were not inclined to do so." Mycroft played with his umbrella but his gray eyes never left Sherlock’s and the younger grabbed the armchair a little too tight with the other’s words of looking after his son or daughter. "That's when she told me you were aware of the situation and agreed not only to get to know the child but that you committed to help her.”  
  
“I did.” Sherlock said with an annoyed sigh. “Listen, Mycroft: I will do this and you can take your opinion that I can’t be a parent and shove it up to your arse.”  
  
With a raised eyebrow, the man with a _minor_ position at the British Government stared at his little brother with curiosity. “Oh.”  
  
“What? What _‘oh’_?” The younger Holmes demanded, annoyed. He hated when Mycroft was deliberately vague.  
  
“You really _are_ going to do this.” Mycroft said after a moment. “You have the same resolve in your eyes as you did twelve years ago when you told me that you were becoming a Consultant Detective.”  
  
“You didn’t believe me then.”  
  
“Well, you were high.” The older man pointed out. “And yet, you managed to plan your rehab.”  
  
“I told you I wouldn’t be back on drugs again – for real that time.” Sherlock said and rolled his eyes when his brother gave him a look. “How many times do I need to say this: it was a ruse for Magnussen. He didn’t believe it, but I had to try it anyway. Small doses, only enough to make it to my system if I was tested and Magnussen wanted evidence, but not _nearly_ enough to make me twenty percent as high as I used to be.”  
  
Mycroft icy eyes scanned his younger brother, not believing in his words for a second: he still remembered the shadow of what his brother once were, lying on a dirty floor of a crack den, while overdosing. The pain to face the fact that his baby brother, the boy with curly hair, bright blue eyes and silly smile he grew up with – and dare to say: loved – so desperate for peace in his mind that he turned to the easy and fast way of complying it: the drugs.  
  
Dark times. So dark that Mycroft’s men could actually keep up with Sherlock’s whereabouts – which the younger man previously could easily avoid and/or mislead. That dirty man, so skinny by the lack of proper nourishment, skin paler than ever, bags under his eyes and dilated pupils almost twenty-four/seven was not his brother, his mind tried to say to the practical side of his brain. He should’ve given up. He should’ve let a problem take care of another. He should’ve let Sherlock sink like the low life he became.  
  
But he promised Mummy.  
  
Mycroft was seven when they brought the baby home. No hair, red, wrinkled and downright ugly in his opinion; but Mummy said: _‘This is your baby brother, Mike. It’s your job to keep him safe from everything. If he’s anything like you, though, he’ll be stubborn, so you’ll have to try very hard, alright?’_  
  
So, Mycroft Holmes – for Mummy’s, Father’s and Sherlock’s sakes – took his young brother out of the streets three times before the idea of being a Consultant Detective took over Sherlock’s mind: he became obsessed of getting clean and it was a struggle but the young Holmes accomplished. Mycroft knew that his brother would _always_ be an addict and once the mess inside his head started again, the urge to calm it down would return.  
  
Always the organized one – he always liked order and properness –, Mycroft taught Sherlock about a technique called Method of Loci, also known as ‘mind palace’. His baby brother never liked psychology, preferring to learn about mathematics, physics and chemistry, and while Mycroft himself always exceeded in every subject, he particularly liked psychology and the Loci Method was rather fascinating.  
  
It was hard to get a nasty and rude Sherlock Holmes to pay attention to his teachings (resulting in some heated arguments and yelling from the oldest and quick methodical answers from the youngster), but in the end, after a couple of months of feeding, clothing and teaching his brother, Mycroft Holmes saw a different man walk out the door of the safe house and start his life: clean, mind (more-or-less) organized and eager to put his intelligence at use to catch bad guys.  
  
To tell the truth, Mycroft expected his brother to relapse again. Still does. Everyday could be the day he would need to identify a curly haired corpse or get a call about a certain resident of a crack den who was babbling State Secrets and needed to be put down.  
  
When John called a year before telling about Sherlock’s situation, Mycroft never felt more disappointed: eleven years of sobriety thrown away. But it was coming.  
  
It was always coming and that was Mycroft’s prerogative: to wait when his brother would get high again.  
  
“Anywho.” Mycroft pursed his lips. “I can see that you are just as enthusiastic to become a father. But what happens if you decide that, for a _case_ ,” he said it with disgust “you need to do drugs again? What about the child?”  
  
“Molly told me that I need to stay clean to be in its life.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed that people still worried about his teeny tiny relapse a year before. “She made it very clear that drugs won’t be an option, not now, not ever.”  
  
The older man raised an eyebrow. “And you are willing to do that?”  
  
“I told you that I wouldn’t do drugs again, Mycroft; that I would _never_ be that deplorable way again.” Sherlock stared at his brother. “Last year was theatric and organized to look like I did return to my old habits, but I will not return to live in a drug house, with my possessions being nothing more than the clothes I wear, my shoes and a blanket if I am lucky. I hated that and I sure as hell don’t want anyone else to see how weak I can be.” The Consultant Detective cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter, since I am clean and intend to be this way for a long time.”  
  
Mycroft nodded. “If you say so.” The siblings stared at each other eyes. “Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” _I should know_ , the older man thought with bitterness.  
  
“Well, brother… you always considered me a disappointment, what else is new?” Sherlock smirked while Mycroft rolled his eyes and got up.  
  
“Not as much as you like to pretend you are, brother dear.” The expression on the Consultant Detective’s face was priceless. “Well, I trust that Miss Hooper knows what she’s getting into: she is one of your” he paused “ _precious_ people. I am a much better observer myself than an actual doer, as you know, so, I will be expecting news on this pregnancy. It interests me so to see how all this will work it out.”  
  
Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal. “As long as you don’t kidnap it.” He paused. “Or its mother. And please, don’t go talk to Molly on your own anymore: she doesn’t need to be part of some scheme to start World War III, or the extermination of some village in western Europe: she is too emotional and doesn’t need the stress.”  
  
“Damn, there goes my Wednesday.” Mycroft said sarcastically and then looked uncomfortable. “She did say something that made me unsettled.”  
  
“Yes, she does that at the weirdest of times and it’s hard to see it coming.” The Consultant Detective sighed. “What did she say to you?”  
  
“That she was glad I took interest in her pregnancy, even if it was just to keep an eye on you.” Sherlock looked surprised with the revelation. “She told me why: so we, you and me, could have something to love and protect together, like brothers are supposed to do” An uncomfortable silence fell over them as both had no idea of what to tell the other.  
  
Mycroft cleared his throat. “I’ll take my leave, then.”  
  
“That’s it?” Sherlock asked as his brother turned to leave the flat. “No threats to place Molly under a different name and move her to another country so I can be focused and you can raise our offspring to be the next British Government?”  
  
“What good would that do?” The older Holmes chuckled and walked towards the door, just to stop for a moment. “I know _those_ eyes, Sherlock Holmes: you are not giving up on your newfound obsession and you know me: I am the smart one. There’s no way I’ll try to stand between you and your goal. Well, I might just make it a little interesting from time to time, though; otherwise you get it too easy.” Mycroft turned the knob. “And don’t worry; I already placed Miss Hooper under better protection than before. Let’s see if I can be a better uncle than I was as a brother.”  
  
Not waiting for an answer, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this, I work as headcanon that Mycroft taught Sherlock about the Method of Loci and that’s why he bossed Sherlock’s mind during His Last Vow: to remind him of his teaching’s. I hope that it was interesting.
> 
> We’ll have some Sherlock/Molly interaction in the next chapter, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock walked inside the morgue, John right behind him, a week after Mycrofts visit just like he always did: like he owned the damn place. It was almost three in the morning and Molly was preparing herself to start the autopsy of a John Doe who was murdered a couple of hours before and she jumped when the doors were opened. She didn’t think Sherlock would take a case that seems to be a mugging gone wrong but with Sherlock Holmes, you never knew.  
  
“Molly?” The Consultant Detective was surprised to see her there; she hadn’t worked the night shift in a long time. “What are you doing here? This is Farrah’s shift, not yours.”  
  
“Good morning to you too.” She offered them a tired smile and John smiled back while Sherlock stared at her, no doubt deducing that until fifteen minutes before she had been sleeping on the couch at the break room. “And I am here because I am working extra hours for a while. Just a couple times a week from now on.”  
  
Sherlock frowned. “You haven’t informed Mike of your pregnancy yet, otherwise he wouldn’t let you exert yourself.”  
  
“I wear loose clothes anyway, so no one knows just yet.” She shrugged. “And I need the extra hours anyway and so far I can do it; it’s not exerting myself. Most nights are calm anyway, the bodies usually arrive by five a.m. or so. I can sleep enough.”  
  
“You don’t have to work extra hours, Molly.” The Consulting Detective informed her.  
  
“I do, Sherlock.” She sighed. “I have enough income for myself, of course, but I need to save some for when the baby is here. There are too many things it will need; furniture, clothes, nappies. There will be medical bills and…”  
  
“Yes, and I am sure that the amount I will be giving to you will be sufficient for all that.” He interrupted her. “Plus, I have a feeling that my parents will try to buy it all for you either way.”  
  
It was Molly’s turn to frown. She stared at John, who looked as baffled by the statement as she felt. “What? Are you giving me money?”  
  
“Of course.” Sherlock was confused, why was she acting like she didn’t know it? “Isn’t this the right thing to do? Don’t I have to offer financial support?” He looked over to John, who was surprised, but nodded. The Consultant Detective returned his gaze back at Molly, proud of getting it right. “See? You don’t need to get the overnight shifts anymore – that couch is hardly advisable for a pregnant woman. Talk with Mike, tell him about the pregnancy and settle this. You shouldn’t stay on your feet for too long either; so, I’d rather that you cut your hours, not increase them. Precious cargo, something or another. I bet we could work something out so you can be here when I need you to; Farrah is a moron.”  
  
The pathologist was trying to process his words, and gaped a few times. “And you are just going to… give me money?”  
  
“There’s a name for that.” Sherlock said and waited.  
  
John understood his cue and informed the taller man by his side. “Child support.”  
  
“Child support, yes. See, all proper and right.” Sherlock waved it off. “Don’t look so suspicious, Molly; I will not be robbing any banks or pickpocketing wallets on the streets.”  
  
“Sorry.” The woman apologized and still looked baffled. “It’s just… Where will this money come from?” She asked. “Your clients…”  
  
“They pay, some more than others.” Sherlock shrugged. “I have a substantial amount of money, of course. Many of my first clients were very influential and paid me a lot for some silly confidential cases. Plus, I have a monthly income for the rest of my life from another client since I figure out the whereabouts of his kidnapped daughter – it was about twelve years ago, perhaps? – he is rather generous and during holidays, like Christmas and Easter, the amount doubles. I barely use half of it during my most extravagant months, so…”  
  
John stared at his best friend in surprise. “Hold on just a moment: you have money? As in: a large amount of it?”  
  
“Of course I do.” Sherlock frowned in confusion, as if it was clear that he indeed had that kind of money lying around. “Mycroft steals most of it from my account so I can’t buy drugs or some nonsense, and puts in another account; but the money is there and I am sure that he will give Molly whatever amount she needs.” The taller man was about to shift his eyes back at the woman, but returned his gaze to his best friend. “Wait, how do you think I buy my clothes and equipment? They are expensive. And I pay the rent on my own now, don’t I?”  
  
“You needed a roommate.” John pointed out.  
  
“No, I wanted a roommate. I never told you, but I was experimenting human behavior back then. The previous tenants soon were boring me or afraid of my mind and/or thought I was weird. You were the only one that lasted.”  
  
“Why the hell do I pay the taxis runs, then?” The doctor wondered; hands on his hips and looking rather pissed off.  
  
“You are the last one to leave. It’s an unspoken rule that the last one pays.” Sherlock smirked and John groaned in frustration while the pathologist chuckled. The Consultant Detective stared back at the woman. “Since you are here now, Molly, I do need to see Ava Cartwright. Came in earlier this evening, I believe?”  
  
“Sure.” She agreed. “I thought you were here for John Doe.”  
  
“What John Doe? Anything suspicious?” Sherlock inquired.  
  
“No. Mugging gone wrong, that’s why I thought it was strange for you to be here for him. Makes more sense that it’s about Ava Cartwright.” Molly said and the Consultant Detective seemed to think the answer satisfactory. Molly took a deep breath before deciding to speak. “Sherlock?”  
  
“Yes?” He asked and Molly shifted her eyes to John for a moment, and then back to the taller man. The good doctor knew how to read the mood and stood a little behind to give them a little bit of privacy, even though he could hear what the couple would say.  
  
“Hm…” She bit her lower lip. “Tomorrow afternoon I will be seeing my ob-gyn at four, and there will be an ultrasound. The first ultrasound.”  
  
Sherlock’s expression hardened and then softened visibly. “Oh.”  
  
Molly probably saw it too, because she tried to reassure him that it was alright if he couldn’t go. “I am not telling you to come, If you don’t, it is fine; I just thought you should know. I’ll make sure to get as many pictures as I can possibly take. So, if you want to see them later…”  
  
The Consultant Detective cleared his throat. “I am not sure I will be able to go. If I catch the murderer of Ava Cartwright in time, perhaps…”  
  
“It’s alright.” Molly nodded. “Just let me know if you can. And there will be other scans. I’ll tell you when and if you want to come along; you are more than welcomed to.”  
  
They stayed in silence for a moment. “Are you…” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Are you feeling alright?”  
  
The woman smiled sweetly. “I am. Thanks for asking.”  
  
“No sickness still?” She informed him, two weeks before when he went to her flat, that she hadn’t had any morning sickness.  
  
“I guess that my stomach needed to toughen up so much after working on a morgue for so long that I am not getting sick, thankfully.” She chuckled and unconsciously put a hand over her stomach, and with it Sherlock could finally see exactly the new size of her belly. “I am one of the lucky ones: no morning sickness, just nausea when a too decomposed body arrives. So far I could switch with Farrah, so, no problem in that department, then.”  
  
He nodded. “Do you need anything?” the man asked softly.  
  
“Not right now.”  
  
“So.” He cleared his throat. “Ava Cartwright?”  
  
“Yes, of course.”  
  


&

amp;

At three thirty in the afternoon the next day, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson entered 221 Baker Street with triumph after not only solving Ava’s murder, but also three more the woman’s ex-fiancée committed in the last four years.

“A very productive day, but I need sleep now. Thirty-six hours awake can be a bummer when the adrenalin high is gone.” Sherlock said, taking off his scarf.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” John looked at his best friend pointedly and the other man frowned.

“No.”

“Molly’s appointment.” The doctor clarified. “You said that if you caught the murderer…”

“Oh yes, I remember now.” Sherlock pondered his options. “Is it really alright for me to go? Won’t it be a bit boring?”

“Molly wouldn’t have invited you to go if you weren’t necessary.” John pointed out. “Plus, trust me: you won’t want to lose the first ultrasound, mate.”

The Consultant Detective looked at John’s face searching for any indicator that the doctor was lying, but found none. He trusted John Watson and if he said that the appointment was not to be missed, Sherlock Holmes believed it.

Putting his scarf back on, he didn’t even say good bye to his friend, just left and hailed a taxi.

Twenty minutes later he was at The Royal London Hospital, and locating Molly was hardly a hard task, not with that lime green jumper. Luckily there was a vacant spot by her side. The pathologist seemed unaware of his presence, unlike the others, who seemed to recognize him.

“This is awful.” Sherlock sat by her side and Molly looked at him with surprise that he was actually there. “This room is too colorful.”

“It is.” She replied, still looking surprised. “You are here.”

“Don’t state the obvious, Molly. It’s beneath you.”

“Sorry, it’s just…” The woman sighed. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“You invited me.” Sherlock frowned. “Was I not supposed to come? I can leave if you want.”

Molly could swear she saw hut passing though his eyes, so she tried her best to clear the meaning behind her words. “No, stay. It’s just… I never thought you would actually be here. I thought you would either be too busy or would forget about it.”

“I did forget.” Sherlock admitted. “John was the one who reminded me.”

“I see.” Molly gave him a small smile. “Good thing he did, then.”

“I guess.” He shrugged and started to tap his fingers on his leg. Noting his impatience, the woman Molly chuckled and grabbed a magazine.

“Don’t worry; this won’t take too long now. I have been here for almost an hour and I am the next one.”

“Good.” Sherlock nodded, but after less than a second, complained. “I am bored.”

She sighed. “Deduce the other pregnant women.”

With one look around the room, Sherlock leaned in Molly’s direction and started to talk in a rushed series of whispers (even he knew not to deduce pregnant women out loud, Mary made sure he got that one right). “The blonde one is the mistress of the man she’s with.” The woman he was talking about had a large stomach and was almost getting on her due date. “It’s his first child and his wife has no idea; the mistress wants to tell the wife, that’s why he’s sweating so much.” The pathologist nodded, noticing how the man’s forehead seemed to glow with sweat. “The brunette one is a lesbian and got pregnant with in vitro fertilization, she resents her partner for talking her into it. As revenge, she’s planning on taking the baby away from its other mother as soon as it’s born.”

Molly gasped. “That’s horrible.”

With a humming sound of agreement, Sherlock nodded. “I believe, Molly Hooper, that we are the normal ones here.”

“A consultant detective and a pathologist who are only having a child by accident being the normal ones…? The world is absolutely insane.” She chuckled and watched as he smirked, eyes sparkling.

“Molly Hooper?” A nurse called and both of them were on their feet in no time, following the young woman.

&

amp;

Thankfully, Sherlock didn’t bother Doctor Robbins – a woman in her fifties, light blue eyes and blonde hair in a pixie style – too much with weird questions (Molly wondered if he researched for hers or Mary’s pregnancy), just wondered about the amount of work she was allowed to do and about the diet.

After an easy calculation, the baby’s due date was set, based on the day Sherlock and Molly had their encounter: May twenty-fourth; but Dr. Robbins informed that babies had their own schedule and that the birth could occur before or after said date.

There was a small moment of conflict between the parents to be when the subject was the chosen way of delivery: she wanted it natural childbirth while Sherlock thought a C-section was faster and better. Molly stopped the imminent discussion, saying that they had time to think about it, but that the decision was still hers.

Sherlock’s stare told Molly that that discussion was not over, but the pathologist didn’t care.

The next step was to have the first ultrasound to see if the pregnancy was going like it was supposed to be. Both Sherlock and Molly followed the older woman to a joint room where the machine was. Molly lied down on the mattress and waited, Sherlock close by.

The doctor raised Molly’s jumper and, for the first time, the man actually saw the baby bump and he seemed very intrigued about it. Molly was a thin woman; the protuberance on her mid-section was rather obvious – if she didn’t wear such loose clothing people would notice that she was with child in no time. He only saw bare pregnant stomachs in a few murders and Molly was pretty much alive, well and expecting his child.

He would ask her to have a look every week so he could catalogue the changes (he couldn’t ask Mary, it would be awkward, even Sherlock Holmes knew that).

After applying the gel the doctor started to move the equipment over Molly’s stomach and the pathologist reached for Sherlock’s hand without even realize, her eyes never leaving the screen, and the man let her do it. It wasn’t unpleasant, he decided; besides, it seemed to calm Molly down.

His focus turned to the screen and they waited.

The image was of a sepia shade and the doctor moved the equipment a bit, trying to get a good image. Sherlock would have to be prepared for the next time: he knew close to nothing about ultrasounds and since Molly informed him about it, he had been busy chasing a murderer to do his research. Mary showed him a few pictures of Rose while in-utero, but they were black and white. It seemed that Molly chose to have a 3D scan.

“Oh.” The doctor said after a few moments and then smiled. “It seems that you have two passengers, instead of one, Molly.”

Her grip on his hand tightened as Sherlock stared at the screen with two very distinct fetus-like shapes. “Wha-What?” Molly asked, confused, and for a moment, the man himself wanted to ask what was happening, because his mind seemed to be numb.

“Congratulations, you are expecting twins.”

“But…” The woman frowned, tightening her grip on Sherlock a little too much, but the man didn’t focus on it, preferring to look at the screen and processing the fact that there were two children instead of one. “But I thought I was having only one.” Molly said dumbly.

“I can see that.” Doctor Robbins smiled kindly. “I know it’s a shock, but here, look at them.”

It was all the expecting couple could do, actually. With the quality of the 3D, they could clearly see the shape of both of their heads, tiny arms which were not fully developed just yet, and small legs. There were two amniotic sacs, that much was clear.

“And now, listen to this.” The doctor switched a button and soon there were two sounds echoing through the room. The sounds were fast, beat after beat creating two distinct patterns: one for each fetus. They were listening to the children’s heartbeats.

“Here.” The older woman pointed to the fetus on the left. “This one just moved.”

“It… did.” Molly’s tone was of complete bewilderment. “Sherlock?”

“Hm?” Said man hummed in response.

“What do you think?” She finally looked up to him, unshed tears (of happiness, he deducted) and big brown eyes staring at him and a smile on her lips. His eyes returned to the screen. Yes, what did he think?

&

amp;

Half an hour later when he returned to Baker Street, John was sitting on his chair, newspaper in hand and obviously waiting for him to arrive so he could know what happened during the first appointment regarding the unexpected Baby Holmes.

The doctor raised his eyes when Sherlock entered the flat, looking a little bit dazed, eyes distant in thought, perhaps? Or the taller man just had a busy couple of days and was tired?

“Hey there, mate.” John called with caution. “Did everything go well?”

Sherlock put a hand inside the right pocket of his belstaff and took a photograph out. The taller man gave it to John before walking towards his own chair and sitting.

The army doctor looked down to the picture on his hands in disbelief, as it was easy to see exactly why Sherlock seemed a little off. John opened his mouth and closed it again half a dozen times before finally clearing his throat. He needed to choose his words with caution.

“You are just physically incapable of doing things half way through, aren’t you?” John looked at his best friend, with raised eyebrows and watched as the man sat on his own chair, still wearing his coat, gloves and scarf; smirked in amusement. “Twins? Really?”

“Apparently.”

“Wow.” The doctor chuckled and looked back to the picture. “What was Molly’s reaction?”

“She was happy that everything seems fine with the pregnancy, but was as shocked as I was.” Sherlock’s eyes went to the photograph in John’s hands. “She insisted I had one of those.”

“It will be nice to keep it around, so you won’t forget about the next appointment.” John chuckled and Sherlock hummed in agreement. “Hey, mate.” The Consultant Detective’s eyes met the doctor’s. “Are you alright with this? There are two babies now. It can put a pressure on anyone.”

Sherlock stared at John for a couple of moments. “I decided to be the father of the outcome from specific pregnancy, and I will. It doesn’t matter that there are two of them now: they will be at Molly’s flat, I can just leave when I go there to visit when they start to cry; and it’s not like Baker Street will be having any overnight visits for years – if ever with the way mothers can be overprotective of their young – and by then they will be trained to go to the bathroom, eat and sleep all night long.” Sherlock shrugged. “It won’t change a thing: they’ll know me, I’ll know them, I’ll carry them a bit so they can know who am I, teach some useful things Molly won’t, pat their heads and send both on their way. The problem is that with two, I’ll have to answer the double of silly questions in a couple of years.” He paused for a moment. “No, forget that; I already have to do so with normal people, I am sure these children will be smarter and the questions won’t be as silly as the ones I hear every day.”

It took him almost a minute, but the doctor finally answered. “You are unbelievable.” John stared with his mouth slightly opened in disbelief. “Unbelievable, really. You freak out internally when you find out you are going to the father of one child – don’t even” The doctor pointed at his friend before the other man could say a word “I could see in your eyes that you panicked for a moment there – and now you are completely calm when discovers that that are two of them.”

“Compartmentalization, John.” Sherlock informed nonchalantly. “Plus, I already dealt with the pregnancy issue, I accepted and now I am… accommodating the changes. The plan is still the same, really.”

“And what is this plan of yours?” The doctor rolled his eyes.

Sherlock smirked. “Watch human behavior.”

“Whose?” John frowned.

“My own.” The Consultant Detective’s eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Let’s see what a progeny can do to a highly function sociopath. This, John, might be the best experiment of them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had an hour conference with two of my friends (who ship either Johnlock or Adlock, so they were very impartial about it) to decide this. It was hard, but after telling my ideas for one child and then twins, we all voted for twins. Haha. I hope this is fine with you. I will try my best not to make this too absurd or something like that.
> 
> Sherlock’s reaction about the twins was unusual, right? Well, he is all over the place emotionally and who the hell knows how he’ll react to anything. I hope that this was different enough to entertain you! See you in the next chapter, where Rose Watson will certainly appear.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, you brought Rose with you, good.” Sherlock said when John entered 221B with his daughter. The Consultant Detective easily took the seven month old infant from the carrier, where she was starting to fuss, but stopped as soon as she noticed that she was going to be carried. “Hello, Rose.” The man had his hands under her armpits and raised her up and down a few times in order to weight her, and the child laughed gleefully thinking it was a game. “Hm… She added about one pound since I saw her.”  
  
John agreed and watched as Sherlock inspected Rose and it always made the doctor smile with the expression of happiness on his daughter’s face as she shook her tiny legs in the air in excitement. “Yes, babies grow and gain weight.”  
  
“I know.” Sherlock gracefully held her close to him, on his hip and the shorter man was amazed by how much at ease the Consultant Detective seemed to be in Rose’s presence. “Any changes on her food?”  
  
“Yeah. Mashed peas, I guess.” John put the pink bag Mary packed for Rose on the coffee table, grabbed the newspaper lying on the table and went to sit on his chair. “I still think it’s very weird that you get samples of her poop, by the way.”  
  
“I am monitoring her health and feces has many indicators if she is healthy or not. So far, she’s all good.”  
  
The doctor nodded but didn’t move his eyes from the paper in hand. “Looking forward to seeing you clean your own children about fifty times a day and still want to analyze it. I bet you won’t look so excited then.”  
  
“She’s almost teething again.” Sherlock ignored his best friend and looked down to the smiling Rose, who only had two bottom teeth and the man couldn’t help but to smile tenderly back. That child was the mix of two people he really loved, she was blonde like her mother, had John’s nose and mouth but definitely Mary’s green eyes. “She’ll get irritated much quicker and refuse food for a while.”  
  
He wondered what his feelings would be when his children were around, a mix between him and Molly. Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that he loved Rose, but people always said that your own would be much more overwhelming. Could he handle those feelings? So far, he felt care for the fetus’ he’d seen on screen but he couldn’t help but wonder if those feelings would grow, like it did when the Watsons were expecting Rose.  
  
“I noticed.” John said from his spot on the couch. “We’ll be more prepared this time.”  
  
“Hm.” Sherlock agreed and opened Rose’s bag to take a baby pink sheet. He gave the baby to her father – John barely had the time to put the paper away before the girl was shoved into his arms – while the Consultant Detective covered the floor with the blanket (Mary was very specific that she was fine with him cataloging Rose’s development, as long as she was in a clean place). Sherlock grabbed the pillow with the British flag and put it on it. Once everything was settled he retrieved the baby and put her sitting on the floor, the pillow right behind her just in case she fell backwards. “She’s holding herself much better.”  
  
“Yeah.” John returned his attention back to the newspaper and ignored his best friend deducing what Rose had been up to since the last time they saw each other.  
  
Fifteen minutes later they heard Mrs. Hudson open the front door and cooing over someone. A couple of minutes after that, they heard footsteps on the stairwell and by the amount of time it took for the person to arrive, Sherlock knew exactly who it was.  
  
“Hello.” Molly said when she shyly entered the living room. “Mrs. Hudson said I could come right up.”  
  
John put his newspaper aside and frowned when heard the pathologist. “Molly. What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”  
  
“Yes.” The brunette smiled and took a folder from her bag and walked towards the table to put it there. “I came to give Sherlock the results of a few tests he asked yesterday for the case. I already gave them to Greg as evidence, but I thought Sherlock would like to see it for himself.”  
  
“You didn’t have to come all the way here.” Sherlock said, getting up from the floor and taking Rose with him. “I planned to go to Barts for lunch.” John looked at the taller man with confusion before his attention returned to the pathologist.  
  
“I needed some fresh air either way. Well, hello, Rosie.” Molly put her bag on the floor and cooed over the blonde infant, who recognized the nice-but-not-mummy woman and almost threw herself from Sherlock’s arms to reach for her and the man barely caught the child. The woman eagerly took the baby from her godfather’s embrace and kissed a chubby cheek. “You look more and more beautiful every time I see you.” The baby babbled a bit and Molly chuckled.  
  
Sherlock frowned as he watched the woman. “Is it advisable for you to be carrying an infant in your condition? Rose is heavy for you.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Molly’s fine.” John rolled his eyes. “And don’t call my daughter fat.”  
  
“I didn’t. I said she’s heavy for _Molly_. I think she has the perfect weight for her age.” The Consultant Detective grabbed the file the pathologist brought. “Oh, I was right, then. I found the killer because of a second footprint we found at the crime scene, but this will help Scotland Yard.”  
  
“Glad I could help.” Molly said, but Sherlock noticed clearly that she was tired of her trip from Barts to Baker Street. He pulled one of the chairs as an indicator for her to sit down and with a look, she thanked him and seated, Rose seated on her knees.  
  
Sherlock – walking around the living room – kept reading the test results Molly brought as the woman played with the blonde girl and John read his newspaper.  
  
It didn’t take more than three minutes for the child to start fussing in discomfort. Molly was trying to shush her, but Sherlock knew it was for naught. He put the folder down. “That’s cry number 6. She doesn’t want the person holding her to be seated.” Sherlock walked towards Molly and the loud infant and took Rose; the girl immediately stopped her cries.  
  
The woman raised her eyebrows in question. “You know the differences in her cries?”  
  
Sherlock said in a tone that indicated he thought everyone knew the many varieties of a baby’s shriek. “Of course. She cries differently for every situation.”  
  
“Mary calls him so Sherlock can identify it when she can’t calm Rose down.” John informed the woman.  
  
“And he gets it right?” Molly was amazed.  
  
“Most of the time.” John shrugged with a smile. “Mary calls him our Crying 999.” Molly chuckled and the army doctor followed. “I usually bring Rose the day after we have a long case and he slept, so he’s not snappy and not totally bored just yet. He likes to catalogue her weight, size, cognitional awareness, and many other things I don’t even know about.” John waved in Sherlock’s direction. “It’s all very safe, I checked. So, when I come here with her, both get entertained: he looks after her while doing what he likes to do, Rose thinks he is hilarious and I can _finally_ read the newspaper in peace for more than a minute at time. So, this” The doctor pointed towards his best friend’s direction “is what you have to look forward to.”  
  
“Can’t wait.” Molly put a hand over her slightly swollen belly.  
  
“You two are very funny.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and maneuvered Rose so he could grab the folder the pathologist brought him once more. The child tried to reach it and the man move it away from her. “Don’t, Rose Ann. You might be curious and I am sure that you will be a very nice assistant like your father” ( _I am not your assistant, Sherlock_ ) “but right now you don’t understand much about petechiae or its effects, timing and size after trauma, so, let me read.”  
  
“She’s smart; I bet that you will teach her all about it in no time.” Molly smirked.  
  
“You will have to deal with Mary if that happens.” John said with a pointed look.  
  
“It will be fine.” Sherlock said with his eyes still roaming over the paper. “Mary won’t want to raise a squeamish girl. Look at Molly: her father was a mortician, she grew up surrounded by dead bodies and aside of spiders she doesn’t feel disgusted with many things anymore. No wonder the two of them became friends; they can see a body without batting an eyelash while ninety percent of Scotland Yard gets nauseated or sick with the sight of a decomposing body.” The man scoffed. “Morons. If raised right, Rose Ann will have an iron stomach as well.”  
  
“What about your own kids?” John asked, amused and Molly stared at the taller man, curious.  
  
“Don’t ask ridiculous questions, John: with Molly as their mother and me as their father, I hardly think they won’t be seeing dead bodies and with enough exposure, they will also get well trained enough not to be like everyone else and faint with a little blood.” Sherlock closed the folder and that time, when Rose reached for it, he let her have it to her total delight. “Brilliant work, Molly. There’s enough forensic evidence now to support the case. Weirdly the court doesn’t take my word for it.”  
  
“We will need to establish some ground rules for these trainings of yours.” Molly eyed the father of her children in a hard way. Sherlock sighed in annoyance and started to walk around with a babbling Rose.  
  
“Oh, don’t fret. I showed Archie a few murder pictures and he thought it was cool.”  
  
John’s head snapped in Sherlock’s direction. “You did _what_? The headless nun was not a joke?”  
  
“The boy cracked the case, John. He _deserved_ that nun.” The Consultant Detective shrugged. “Brilliant boy.”  
  
“He was _eight_ , Sherlock.”  
  
“And already had more guts than half of London Police Force.” Sherlock added and Rose babbled. “She agrees.”  
  
“Rose is seven months old, she can’t agree with you.”  
  
Molly laughed. “I am sure that this will be an entertaining domestic but I have to go back to Barts.” She rose from the chair with a groan as Sherlock watched her with attention as she put her hand on her lower stomach.  
  
“You are in pain.” He said. “John, Molly is in pain.”  
  
The doctor frowned and was immediately on his feet and by the woman’s side. “Molly?”  
  
“It’s fine.” Molly assured them. “I talked with my doctor, she says it is Round Ligament Pain. Every woman has it.” Sherlock confirmed it with the information he had stashed on his memory – he’d read a lot about pregnancies since Mary’s and he’d done even more researches after he knew about the twins and Round Ligament Pain was indeed frequent –, but he didn’t like it.  
  
“What can be done?”  
  
“Give birth.” The woman chuckled. “It’s fine, Sherlock. I am pregnant with twins; I knew that this wouldn’t be comfortable.”  
  
“You should tell the doctor on the next appointment.” The Consultant Detective watched as she suddenly became tense. He frowned. “What is it?”  
  
“I need to talk to you about the next appointment.” Molly bit her lower lip.  
  
“And that’s my cue.” John was no Consultant Detective but he knew when a serious discussion was about to occur. He took Rose from her godfather. “We’ll be in the kitchen.”  
  
Sherlock looked confused for a moment as he watched his best friend leave the room; his attention returned to Molly once more. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”  
  
“The doctor was able to squeeze me in at the twenty-third, remember?”  
  
The man nodded and spoke slowly. “Yes. I didn’t delete it this time. I want to know if now that I researched about ultrasounds, I can see what the doctor sees.”  
  
“Sherlock, I actually want you _not_ to come with me.” Molly saw hurt pass through his eyes and tried to assure him that it wasn’t her intention to hurt him. “It’s nothing like that, it’s just that my doctor told me that at sixteen weeks they can tell their gender and I want to know it on Christmas Day, so I’ll have her writing their genders and put it on an envelope so two days later I can open it.”  
  
The Consultant Detective frowned. “This is ridiculous, knowing a couple of days before or a few days later won’t make a difference.”  
  
“It will to me. I…” Molly hesitated. “My Christmases hasn’t been good since my dad died.” She explained. “Something _always_ happens around this time of the year to put me off no matter how hard I try and… I am so excited to know what we are having… You would figure it out at the _moment_ they appeared on the screen or when the doctor writes on the paper for me and... I want to have a happy Christmas again, like I did with my dad.”  
  
He took a moment to look at her. “Is this sentiment?”  
  
“Yes.” Molly nodded. “But I want to know it _with_ you, if you want, that is. I can come here and we can open the envelope together. I just… I don’t want you to know before me. It might be selfish, but… just this one time I want to know something with you. I’ll probably never have the chance again.” She gave him a pointed look and Sherlock nodded in agreement. “I promise that I want you there, but just this one time.”  
  
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.”  
  
“I will ask for the video so you can take a look later.” Molly assured him and he hummed in agreement. It would be better to watch it in Baker Street, alone and with time to analyze it. Plus, if it made Molly happy and he didn’t have to go to that horrid boring place, it was all good with him.  
  
“Alright.” Sherlock nodded and then recalled something he needed to talk to her. “Actually, speaking of Christmas… My mother invited you over after Mycroft babbled all about your pregnancy. Mummy is ecstatic with the prospect of having grandchildren. Apparently, if I don’t take you there for her to meet you, she will come and camp here for as long as she can and that woman is crazy enough for me to believe she will do it. I was able to push it until Christmas time, but she won’t take any longer to meet you.”  
  
“Uh…” Molly hesitated. “Meet your parents?”  
  
“I am very sorry, they are _horribly_ boring but it’s necessary, otherwise they will make my life hell and I can’t take her here for a couple of weeks.” Sherlock sighed. “I have no choice but to throw you to the wolves.”  
  
“The wolves?” Molly looked scared for a moment.  
  
“Don’t worry it’s just a figure of speech,” The man waved “they are harmless and will be happy to have you there, they are just… _ordinary_. You don’t have any plans for Christmas, right? Then it’s all settled. We can go in the morning of twenty-fourth, it takes about three hours by car to get there, we will be at their house by lunch – Mummy will be cooking a feast, I expect – and we will be back in London by the twenty-sixth.” Sherlock nodded. “You will have the chance to spend Christmas with the children’s family, _your_ family as well now since I expect them to adopt you like they did with Mary, and when you open the envelope with the genders, I’ll be right there.” The Consultant Detective smiled falsely. “Win-win, everyone’s happy.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“Don’t worry, John and Mary will take Rose to my parents’ as well.” ( _“We won’t be spending the holidays there, Sherlock_.” The doctor said from the kitchen, where he was with his daughter) “Yes, they are. Mary didn’t tell him just yet. She, for a reason I can’t even begin to comprehend, bonded with Mummy like a lost puppy. You are going, right?” The woman nodded in clear confusion and Sherlock lead Molly towards the door. “Perfect. Pack for two days, I’ll tell the details when I next go to Barts and I’ll be calling my mother with the news, she’ll expect you. Oh, look at the time: you are late for your shift. Since you used your lunch time here, don’t forget to eat when you get the chance. Think of the children. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” He opened the door. “Here we go, bye.”  
  
Confused, Molly left the flat and went downstairs, looking up once just to meet Sherlock’s eyes and he was sure she was wondering if she really said yes to go to his parents’ for Christmas, but needed to figure out later otherwise she would be late.  
  
Once she was gone, Sherlock closed the door and returned to his chair and John re-entered the living room with Rose. The doctor put the child on the carrier.  
  
“Smart, trapping her like that so she can’t say no.” John commented.  
  
“Yes. I wasn’t worried, though.” The Consultant Detective shrugged. “It’s Molly: she will never let either of them grow up without at least meeting a set of grandparents. She has wonderful memories of her own and since her parents are gone, mine are all there are for them. And Mrs. Hudson. Did you know that she hugged me and shrieked in happiness for about fifteen minutes when she found out? Twice as much when I informed her that there are two on the way. She said she’s going to be a Nana.”  
  
“I can see that happening.” The doctor chuckled.  
  
“She makes homemade meals and makes me deliver for Molly at Barts when I am not in a big case.” Sherlock groaned. “Annoying.”  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“No one makes you do anything you don’t want to.” John said with an eyebrow raised and Sherlock appeared to be staring at everywhere but at the doctor’s direction. “Are you… having lunch at Barts now?”  
  
The Consultant Detective took a moment to answer. “A couple of times a week.”  
  
“With Molly?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And do you eat?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“With _Molly_?”  
  
“Ye- are you deaf?” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
“It’s just…” John tried to have a clear view of what was happening between the two of them “you are having lunch with Molly.”  
  
“Have you suffered brain damage as of late?” The Consultant Detective frowned. “We established that I have lunch with Molly a couple of times a week.”  
  
“Why?” John asked.  
  
“People have lunch to eat.”  
  
“No, you git,” the doctor rolled his eyes “I wasn’t talking about that and you know it. Why are you having lunch with Molly?”  
  
Sherlock looked confused for a moment. “I thought that it was what expectant parents do? Get together and talk?”  
  
The army doctor looked at his best friend in disbelief. “You two talk about the pregnancy?”  
  
“Usually about my cases or post-mortems she is doing.”  
  
John snorted. “You two are made for each other, really. Speak of death and gore during a date.”  
  
“Oh, shut up. You and I talk about it all the time when we have lunch together.” Sherlock mumbled and then, nonchalantly: “What do you mean by date?”  
  
“Don’t even.” John rolled his eyes. “You know very well what you are doing.” The doctor stared at his friend.  
  
After a few moments, the Consultant Detective chose his words carefully. “I am… bonding.”  
  
“Bonding?”  
  
“Yes. Molly is expecting not one but two offspring. I find myself curious about her condition.” Sherlock remarked. “Plus, I never had problems talking with her about cases; she is very competent on her job.”  
  
The doctor leaned to swing Rose’s carrier when the blonde child made a discontent sound. “But you are about to be father of her children now; you should talk to her about them. You know… big decisions, think of names, wonder about their future. You have the double of worries now and I am worried you are taking everything too lightly. I haven’t seen you freaking out aside from when you received the news. Now there are _two_ on the way.”  
  
Sherlock considered his friend’s worries for a moment. “I think that I am not worried because it’s Molly. If it was any other woman, I would be worried because dealing with someone like me is tiresome, I know. People always told me how weird I am, and that I am a freak.” The Consultant Detective took a breath. “I coped with that, I stopped caring about it decades ago but I still heard and still hear how different I am. Molly never made _me_ feel different and if she can make me feel that way, the children will be fine. Even if I am not around, they will be fine because Molly will be there. I want to watch that and I want to be a part of it too, even if it’s just a minor role.” John was looking at his best friend in surprise and amazement for a few moments as Sherlock got up from his chair after clearing his throat. “I need to call my mother, she promised to catch the two p.m. train to stay here until she meets Molly if I don’t call her accepting the invitation.” Sherlock nodded towards Rose. “She’s getting red and her frown indicates she’s defecating. Get me a sample, would you?”  
  
The Consultant Detective reached for his phone and dialed as John stared at him leaving the living room and it made him proud of how much the man changed since they met. Rose interrupted his thoughts by fussing. “Alright, baby girl, let’s get you all cleaned. If your godfather wants a sample, he can peek on your diaper after I clean you because I sure as hell am not touching it.”


End file.
